


It Should Feel Like Something You Were Missing

by Shippershape



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Frank died again, Hurt/Comfort, Reunion Fic, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: It’s like losing him all over again, morning.-Two months after his death, Karen is still dreaming of Frank. But this time, something is different.





	It Should Feel Like Something You Were Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Kastle fic, but I was listening to All My Friends by Dermot Kennedy and couldn't help myself. Two-parter, the rest coming soon!

He comes to her in a dream. She has them all the time, traces the harsh planes of his face, the crooked lines of his nose, presses sweet, sorry kisses along his jaw. In her dreams, she touches him in all the ways he never would have let her when he was alive.

She stares up at his dark eyes, taking in the floppy brown hair and hipster beard he’d been sporting when he first came back into her life, and wonders at the change. In her dreams he always looks the way he did when he died. Close cropped hair, clean shaven, black hoodie pulled up over his head. The nightmares come more consistently than the good dreams, and in those he wears the green jacket, the one that spotted red when he was shot, like poppies in the grass.

But she hasn’t seen this version of him in a very long time. Since he was still alive.

“Frank,” she says, reaching out to thread her fingers through his hair. He’s sitting on the edge of her bed, leaning over her and looking concerned. That, at least, is very him. “I always liked this look on you,” she muses. He’s warm under her touch, leans into it when she slides her hand down to cup his cheek, and that fucking aches.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking amused but a little unsure. “Wouldn’t have figured you were into the hipster type.”

Ah. That voice. Low and gruff and surprisingly clear tonight when she’s been afraid she was losing the sound to her memory.

“I thought it made you look more like a sexy lumberjack.”

His eyebrows shoot up at that, and she smiles. He seems genuinely speechless for a moment, but eventually he mutters something like _I’m not sure that’s any better_ , under his breath. Her smile widens. God, she misses him. His surly glances and gentle touches and the way he makes her feel present in a way no one else ever has. The way he makes her feel safe, in a city where that is an unusual privilege.

He just stares at her for a moment.

“You don’t look surprised to see me.”

“I’m surprised to see you look like _this,”_ she concedes, rubbing at the full beard covering his jaw. “Not that I’m complaining. It beats the whole dead and bleeding thing, although I’m sure I’ll get to see that later.” The nightmares usually chase the good dreams, and when she wakes up drenched in sweat and tears there’s no chance of further sleep.

“Uh,” Frank catches her hand, rough fingers curling around it. “Okay.” His frown deepens in confusion, and she presses a finger from her free hand into the crease on his forehead until it smooths out. Her eyelids are heavy, as though even in sleep remembering him is exhausting in it’s grief.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have known they were coming after you. That was my _job_. I could have saved you.” She forces her eyes reluctantly back open to find him staring agonizingly back at her. “I should have saved you,” she repeats in a whisper, and behind the pain something in his eyes clicks into place.

“You did,” he says quietly. And that hurts, but before she can respond, he adds “Go back to sleep, Karen. I’ll be here in the morning.”

At his words, she snatches her hand back, glaring at him.

“Don’t do that.”

He blinks.

“Do what?”

“Don’t lie to me. You never did when you were alive. Don’t start now.” The words burn her tongue, as she thinks about the ache that greets her every morning when she remembers that he’s gone. There are always those first, few seconds of blissful oblivion. When the world hasn’t sharpened yet. And then it hits, like someone is sitting beside her and whispers it in her ear, and the bottom of her stomach drops out.

It’s like losing him all over again, morning.

Frank opens his mouth, then closes it, at a loss.

“Just go back to sleep.” He mutters, voice laced with something dark and heady she can’t pinpoint through the drowsiness.

“Alright,” she mumbles, laying back against the pillows. She’s always loathe to give up any time with him, but her eyes are so heavy. The bed dips beside her, and she rolls into the warm, solid weight of him automatically. He smells like soap and gunpowder, and the cracks in her heart stretch at the familiarity. Eventually, oblivion drifts at the edge of her consciousness, and she reaches for it gratefully.


End file.
